Page 9 of Miss Matched

Zac skims the room before his stare lands back on me.

“So you think I’m hot?” He grins.

“Glad that’s what you picked up from my statement.” I lift an eyebrow at him.

“I could say the same for you. A sexy woman at the hotel bar, all alone, chatting up random men with her lemon drop in hand?”

His lips pop as he rattles off my drink, and something about how they press together fills me with heat. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the pressure building inside me. It’s been too long since I’ve had a man between my legs if Zac’s able to have an effect like this.

“I’m working,” I tell him.

He gives me a curious look, ever so briefly eyeing the dip of fabric near my breasts.

“Oh. No. God no.” I balk at what he must be thinking. “If you’re insinuating that I’m here servicing guys like Chad for cash—gross.” I gag a little.

“Didn’t you just insinuate that’s why I’m here? To lure women upstairs?”

Did I?

I shake my head, although I guess I did. I’m not used to a man who can stand toe to toe with me, but Zac definitely is.

“I’m hosting an event in the ballroom. A meet and greet of sorts. Hence the ridiculous dress.” I wave my hands at my designer gown.

“I don’t think the dress is ridiculous.” Zac inches closer, and heat floods my veins. “It’s almost as stunning as the woman in it.”

“Thank you.” It’s barely a whisper.

Someone either turned up the heat, or I’m imagining things. With Zac this close, my head feels cloudy, and the room is spinning.

How much vodka is in this drink?

“So, is ‘meet and greet’ code for speed dating or something?”

“Not exactly,” I say. “It’s more like me trying to pair guys like Chad up with their soulmate.”

“You’re a matchmaker.” Zac’s eyebrows cinch with recognition. “I thought you looked vaguely familiar. There was an article in TheSeattle Times recently, right? Hearts Inc., something or other?”

I nod, not wanting to talk about the article he’s referring to. After all, it’s where my current predicament started. Who knew one article could effectively undo years of hard work and effort.

“Seattle’s best cupid,” I say with a bow of my head.

“And here I was under the horrible impression that cupid was a chubby guy with a bow and arrow.”

“Oh, I have arrows. As our poor friend Chad learned earlier,” I say, and it gets me a raised eyebrow as a reaction. “You would think that since they come to me looking for love, all I’d have to do is set them up with the right girl. Unfortunately, guys like Chad prefer taking detours in blondes on the road to get there.”

“That explains the sulking,” Zac says.

“He just needed a friendly reminder.” I grin, and Zac lets out a laugh that reverberates through me.

“But no judgment here,” I say. “So long as they eventually get in line and follow the rules, it’s business. And I’m inclined to facilitate.”

“How romantic of you, Cupid.” I don’t mind the pet name as much as I know I should.

“Realistic,” I correct him. “Romance these days is a lot more than just sweeping a woman off her feet.”

His eyes dip to my mouth, and I know in that moment what all the fuss is about with this man. Money and appearances aside, there’s an energy rolling off him in waves, and my body doesn’t fail to notice.

Tempting.

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